Il diritto di uccidere

A scorching performance from Bogey makes this film a real classic, his Dixon Steele one of the great screen characters. In this more biting version of the plot of Hitchcock's suspense/comedy Suspicion, Bogart is a kind and loving screenwriter with a violent streak of temper waiting to break out and a taste for a drink or two, wooing Gloria Grahame's pretty young actress next door. The death of a young girlfriend of his hangs over him throughout the movie, as Graham at first believes him to be innocent, then later, having fallen for his charms, begins to suspect he may have had something to do with the girl's death after all, as his temper becomes more and more uncontrolled and frightening. The police circle around, making his nervous anger worse; the relationship begins to crumble into a mess of fear, lies and misunderstanding. Through all this Dixon Steele emerges as a great and brilliant creation, a highlight even in a career as illustrious as that of Bogart, a charming and witty man when happy, a black and vengeful man when roused to anger, a man of contradictions that only seems the more real, heroic, and ultimately tragic. Bogart's performance is brilliant, but the setting works well too, Grahame is great as the sassy girl he falls for, then frightens, the story chugs along at a fair lick, but allowing plenty of time for the many fun minor characters to develop well, and the script is a corker - wonderful stuff.

In 1950, Billy Wilder released his latest masterpiece, 'Sunset Blvd.,' a scathing satire on the pitfalls of Hollywood celebrity, delicately drawing a contrast between the deluded and volatile has-been Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) and the scheming wanna-be screenwriter Joe Gillis (William Holden). While Wilder's film deservedly received an overwhelming critical response, and its share of controversy, another impressive, similarly-themed film slipped beneath the radar that same year. For decades, director Nicholas Ray was overlooked and neglected by most film critics, before developing something of a cult following in the 1970s, and films such as 'Rebel Without a Cause (1955)' – which I first watched just a week ago – are now recognised as masterpieces. 'In a Lonely Place (1950)' has only now been lauded as one of the finest entries into the film-noir movement, and Humphrey Bogart's performance has emerged as among the most intense and profound in his distinguished repertoire. A brooding study of aggression, trust and success, Ray's film meticulously deconstructs the Hollywood myth, revealing a frightening world where the man you love could very well be a murderer.

Dixon Steele (Humphrey Bogart) is a down-on-his-luck screenwriter, an unsuccessful artist who resents being pressured into writing hackneyed, unoriginal scripts, which are guaranteed money-makers for the studios but possess zero artistic integrity. The morning after he brings home a bar hat-check girl (Martha Stewart) to recite the plot of the novel he is to adapt, Steele is hauled into the police department to explain why the girl was found murdered, her strangled body dumped from a moving vehicle. Appearing almost indifferent to the crime, Steele declines all knowledge of the homicide, and his story is shakily corroborated by a neighbour, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), with whom he forms an intimate relationship. As Steele begins to pen his latest screenplay, he uncovers an outlet for his pent-up aggression, however, when Laurel betrays a lingering suspicion that her love might possibly have perpetrated the horrific murder, he threatens to lash out in a fit of violence, only further cementing her misgivings. By the film's end, the tragedy of the couple's relationship is revealed: whether or not Steele actually did commit the murder is almost irrelevant; what ultimately dooms their romance is that he conceivably could have.

In an obvious critique of the Hollywood studio system, Steele bitterly condemns the career of a successful producer, accusing him of remaking the same movie twenty times and of being a "popcorn salesman." The producer, apparently comfortable with his prosperous but creatively-deficient profession, snidely reminds Steele that everyone in Hollywood is inherently a "popcorn salesman," so why fight it? It's this notion of creativity – or, rather, the lack of creativity in film-making – that forms the heart of 'In a Lonely Place.' There's no doubt that Dixon Steele is a talented screenwriter, but his reluctance to allow his work to be influenced by popular opinion makes him feel trapped and alone, as though Hollywood is attempting to stamp out his genius. His frustration with the film-making business is allowed to accumulate steadily within, before being unleashed in adrenaline-charged explosions of aggression and violence. From here is born the dilemma of Laurel's relationship with him: it is Steele's creativity with which she most assuredly fell in love, but this gift is intrinsically linked with the hostility of which she is so frightened.

Bogart is at his uncompromisingly dark best as the Hollywood writer whose temper leads to accusations of murder and conflicted relationships. By turns charming, cold, romantic and remorseful, Dix Steele is as unpredictable a character as Bogie has ever played.

He shows no emotion on learning that Mildred - the innocent he has just met - has been killed, and those who know him accept his violent nature as simply part of the Steele package. But thanks to the skill of Bogie and director Ray, the audience never entirely loses sympathy for him. The moments of tenderness he shows to his alibi-turned-lover Laurel (an ethereal Gloria Grahame; imagine Hope Davis glammed-up for the 50s) alternate with fits of anger to turn their relationship into that of a tragic poem.

In A Lonely Place is film noir that focuses on romance rather than crime. The reasons for Mildred's murder are never satisfactorily made clear, but it doesn't really matter. The movie asks whether love and trust are earned by what a person says or what they do. And in the end, actions speak louder than words.

The fickle world of writing scripts has set the beat, left you lonely, isolated, in retreat, cynical and quite sneering, motivation is despairing, a murdered hat-check girl brings police and some heat. Laurel Gray provides an alibi, defence, an affair that takes a day to start, commence, passions burn and fires rage, as you draft from page to page, past history suggests, you are quite tense. As time moves on, your anger oversteps the mark, your whole demeanour's built on fury and is dark, as you erupt and overflow, people aren't safe, punches get thrown, you're bite's at lot more worse, after you've barked.

Great performances, a dark and disturbing tale, as relevant today as it was back then, which can't always be said for films of the time.

Bogart reportedly thought the movie a failure. Certainly box-office results were dismal and Bogie's production company, Santana, lost a bundle. Hard to believe anyone thought this disturbing film with its downbeat ending would actually make money. Bogart's Dix Steel (that name should have been reconsidered) is a borderline psychopath, a Jekyll and Hyde who can boil over in an instant. He's a walking volcano whose sensitive side simply cannot contain the inner turmoil. In that day, few Hollywood egos had the assurance to take on such an unflattering role, especially the shadowy later scenes where his creviced face approaches the grotesque. It's a fine and daring performance, and the last, I believe, where Bogart plays even a semi- romantic leading man.

Good as Bogart is, this is a Gloria Graham showcase. Her droopy upper lip and pouty face never quite fit the Hollywood mold, and by decade's end, she was gone. Here, however, she's near perfect as the jaded starlet, with a questionable background and just a hint of 50's kink. Her Laurel Gray emerges as a vulnerable, yet street-wise toughie, drawing the eager Steel into a torrid affair, (only hinted at because of the production code of the day). But as his character unravels, so must hers, which it does in beautifully understated stages. Watch her quietly desperate reaction to Steel following the assault on the motorist, or her barely controlled panic at film's end. It's an award-level performance, all the better for refusing to go over the top, despite the many opportunities. Small wonder she remains an enduring noir favorite.

The mystery angle may be a clever plot device, but it's director Nicholas Ray's powerful vision that makes the film gel. A poet of post-war alienation, he's the perfect overseer of such fare, combining the elements into a grimly compelling view of human estrangement and isolation. Perhaps no director other than Elia Kazan could work with a cast as effectively as Ray. Notice how distinctively each of the supporting players is drawn, from the Shakespearean drunk to the hard-bitten maid to the lounge lizards at Romanoff's. Only the cops in routine roles seem to fade into the background. Underrated in many of Ray's best films is the scoring, and this film is no exception. George Antheil's compositions are simple yet expertly conceived, highlighting the scenes without rivaling them and lending just the right emotional tone. My one complaint: I've never understood why an industry so close to the beach couldn't film at the beach, or at least couldn't have come up with a better process shot than the one here.

Nonetheless Bogart was wrong. The film is anything but a failure. Coming from an era of happy endings, Dix and Laurel remain star-crossed lovers, doomed by their own sophistication and inner demons, for which there appears no cure. Expecting uplift, audiences of the day may not have responded, but viewers during the years between have, recognizing In a Lonely Place for the noir classic it is. This quietly disturbing portrayal of one man's inability to cope continues to resonate beyond the confines of today's slam-bang world. So whatever you do, don't miss it.